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Sharing "No Barren Life"

Today, for the first time on this blog, I am sharing an excerpt from my novel, for which I am trying to gain support through Pubslush, called "No Barren Life." I hope you enjoy this piece, as it was one of my favorites to write. I also hope that you will become a supporter of my journey to publication.

Daisy, the Anangu woman we were sent to see by the
River Bank, is the keeper of her people’s women’s business and secrets. She is about five foot four inches and two
hundred pounds. Daisy wears a matronly
bra that must have once been white, and an A-lined, faded green cotton skirt
that grazes her ashy knees. Not alone, she is accompanied by a small group of
women dressed in a similar way.

Here come the
women, all of them use either walking or dancing sticks. I see that some hold what I’ve been told is
called a coolamon, a common sight,
which I learned serves as a special wooden carrying dish to carry bush tucker,
seeds and bush medicines, as well as babies.
Daisy is the leader and the fact that she is well respected by the other
women is apparent. The women give her a wide birth and form a semi-circle
behind her. They treat her with reverence and in turn she commands her space. The women do a slow deliberate dance;
delicate arm movements brushing the air, in contrast to the almost stamping
movements of their solid, bare feet; they advance, feet keeping them from
ascending. Chanting ever so softly, I
see each woman now has a dancing stick on hand.
I want to learn more about what they were doing and why, Damn, why can’t Uncle Raoul be here but
refrain from asking questions. They seem
to be blessing the ground as they get closer, by throwing some type of seeds.

“Join us,” they
beckon.

I am unsure of
what is going on but as a dancer I quickly learn to mimic their rhythm, flowing
arm and staccato foot movements. We go to the most amazing water hole.

“You can call me
Esther,” one of the taller women says, clearly more comfortable speaking the Anangu languages. “It is sacred.” A pause as Esther searches
for the right words in English. “This…a sacred billabong dreaming site.”

Appearing out of
nowhere in the barren landscape I say to Daisy, Esther and the other women,
“Wow, it is as clear as it is deep.”
Into its narrow opening I go.

They wash me,
some singing others chanting all the while.
Cleaned spiritually, I imagine, and to their liking, the women make a
fire from gathered grasses and wood on the red dirt clearing. One of the women
has a white enamel pot clutched to her chest and it reminds me of something in
which Mama cooks vegetables. I notice, another healer has bush tea in her coolamon. It doesn’t take long to brew our Billy Bush
Tea, about fifteen minutes all told. The
brew made of gathered herbs from the bush is no ordinary tea. It is a heady blend tasting of medicine;
bitter even with the addition of the honey they had collected from a local
grove of trees. Honey ants, a local
delicacy, which had been clinging to the honey, float free in my cup. I do not
care for this concoction at all but drink it out of appreciation for their
driving in all the way from Glen Helen Gorge.

Daisy looks
anxious and distressed when she looks me over after I drink the bush tea but continues
to sing the most haunting song. The song stirs the thing that lives deep within
me. Esther feels my forehead and looks worried. With its kicking and lurching I
am heating up. The familiar itching has
returned with violent movements in my belly.
Within a few moments I bring up the entire contents of my cup, vomiting
the tea and my previous meal, surprising those that had gathered to support the
healing.

Knowing looks
all around, Daisy says with crystal clear English, most likely learned at a
Christian mission, “You will have to go back to Arnhem Land. What you have
can only be fought in that country…your country. Go, be with your family. Find a healer that knows about your moiety,
totems and women’s business. Hurry, you
don’t have long. Mimi’s aren’t evil but
this one has taken things too far. Soon
this misguided Mimi spirit will consume you,” and with that ominous warning she
was finished. We took the long walk back to the river bank where Uncle Raoul sits
on the ground, chatting with men gathered around a smoldering campfire.

While not
healed, I am buoyed by the bush tucker, teas and bathing in the sacred
billabong, along with Uncle Raoul’s almost constant petitions to the orishas on
my behalf. I spend another week in the desert town. I almost look normal. Perhaps I had expelled some of the Mimi’s
intent when I threw up, if not the creature itself.

Thanks so much E.E. I need all the well wishes with this project that I can get. I'm so glad you enjoyed the scene I shared. Best of luck to you as well with your book "Chimeras." I love the title and premise!

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As an artist, illustrator, writer, author and blogger. Every day is special because it is a day of discovery on this journey called life. I paint, create works-on-paper, write and blog professionally. I teach fine art, botanical arts and crafts, herbalism, aromatherapy, and on various topics on Paganism and Earth-based spirituality. If you are interested in a book reading or signing, workshop, retreat experience or cleansing, go to www.stephanierosebird.com. Now, I have a brand new art website to share my paintings and drawings with you as well. Visit here: http://artist-stephanierosebird.com/